Thursday, September 10, 2009

Thursday Poem - Sometimes I am startled out of myself

like this morning, when wild geese came squawking,
flapping their rusty hinges, and something about their trek
across the sky made me think about life, the places
of brokenness, the places of sorrow, the places where grief
has strung me out to dry. And then the geese come calling,
the leader falling back when tired, another taking her place.
Hope is borne on wings. Look at the trees. They turn to gold
for a brief while, then lose it all each November.
Through the cold months, they stand, take the worst
weather has to offer. And still, they put out shy green leaves
come April, come May. The geese glide over the cornfields,
land on the pond with its sedges and reeds.
You do not have to be wise. Even a goose knows how to find
shelter, where the corn still lies in the stubble and dried stalks.
All we do is pass through here, the best way we can.
They stitch up the sky, and it is whole again.

Barbara Crooker,
Abalone Moon Journal,
Summer 2004

2 comments:

quiet said...

This is such a beautiful poem. I've copied it and will include it in my journal. Where I live there are no wild geese and in my dreams I'd like to see them just once in my life :)

One Woman's Journey said...

Oh my, your sharing continues to speak to my heart.
I - also - am copying this poem.